Redemption
by Sunburned-Stickperson
Summary: Perhaps the path to redemption lies in the hearts of those he calls his enemies.


The first time he squats on the wooden beam, he's most certainly not expecting anything. He's out of sight out of the guards, resting in the shade of the church during the hottest hours of the day. He feels much better sitting there, waiting out the hot hours and panting like a dog. He pulls down his hood and undoes the belts at his waist, letting his robes be looser as he sits there.

Great Allah, he's sorry for every sin he's committed.

"You're in my spot," he hears growled, and he looks to see a guard standing there, scowling. "This is my spot: find your own damn spot, you Godless heathen."

Altair snorts, hardly able to, and goes back to panting. However, he does scooch over and give the guard room to sit. The man plops down as he crawls to the other side of his belts. He leans forward, panting quieter. He's a little surprised to hear the man hanging his own belts on the wooden beams. The man is quiet, and once the sun begins to hide behind the horizon, he gets up and leaves after putting his belts back on. He doesn't encounter the man for the rest of the day.

The next time he sees him, the man looks pale and overheated, but he's still sitting there on the wooden beams, and Altair plops down anyway, earning a grunt from the man.

The third time, Altair hands him a water skin of cool water from the fountains in the bureau nearby. The water is gone in minutes, and Malik isn't happy when he finds the two sitting there with Altair's water skin in the guard's hands. He ignores the Dai, and the next day, fills his water skin with cool water, crushing some herb from a vendor in the water to make if feel cooler. The man takes it gratefully, and it's gone within seconds. He still looks pale and sickly from the heat. Altair doesn't know why he's bringing him water, but he feels a sort of… attachment to the guard now.

By the end of the week, it's a routine—every day, same time. Altair brings the guard two or three skins of the water with the crushed-up herb, and they would sit there in silence until the heat of the day passed. This continues through the next week, and into the third before they actually speak.

"So fucking hot, this motherfucking city," the guard growls one day, wheezing and trembling as he hold the second water skin, and Altair looks at him before he chuckles quietly.

"You think this is hot, you should have been here a year ago when the heat wave hit," Altair manages to say with only one pant.

"Shit, there was a time period hotter?" the man wheezes, his breathing heavy and looking a little woozy. "And I'm stationed here?"

He frowns. He should want nothing more to kill this man, but there's something about the way he's acting that makes him worry. "Where are you from?"

"England," he wheezes. "It's freezing there. I need to go home. I'm not cut for this shit. My friends laugh 'cause I wash thoroughly every day just to keep the extra layers of sweat off me. Less layers to heat me up and cold water to cool me down."

Altair reached up and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Then why are you here?"

"I need the cash. Gotta have a job. I shoulda followed my mother's advice and never have given up my job as a broke blacksmith."

Altair flinches and lowers his hand as the man opens the third skin and takes a swig. He can still see him trembling slightly. They say nothing else until they part with quiet murmurs.

They say nothing more for the next two weeks, but Altair steals two of Malik's water skins and collects the empty containers from the guard just before the bureau closes.

One day, the guard isn't there, doesn't come, and Altair waits, the water skins still attached to his belts. When the guard doesn't appear for far too long, the assassin gets up and trudges through the city until he finds the guard passed out in the streets. He isn't sure why he does it, and he's sure he'll come to regret it, but he picks the guard up.

And then he starts back to the bureau. He comes walking in with the passed out guard, ignoring Malik's screaming as he sets the man down and fetches a few of the pillows and blankets. He makes him a bed and sets him down, opening one of the water skins and slowly helping the poor guy drink it. He notices that Malik is surprisingly quiet, but he pays him no mind. After a few sips of the water, he ties it shut and strips the man of the armor and weapons.

Without even having to ask, Altair finds a bowl of water and rag nearby, Malik watching him from the counter. He wipes the man down and then goes back to giving him water.

It's nighttime before he wakes. Malik hasn't said a word to him all day, and Altair hasn't moved from the guard's side. The man wakes with a quiet murmur, talking insensibly about something, and Altair is already ready with more water as the man's eyes flicker open.

"Where am I?" he hears wheezed.

Altair sits there, staring at him, and when the guard recognizes him, he crinkles his brow.

"Your… home?"

Altair snorts but helps him up to drink. They make it through the second skin, and the man isn't trembling anymore after that. He watches as the man stares at the ceiling after laying back.

"Where… am I?"

"The assassins' bureau," Altair murmurs, and he can see Malik tense up in his peripheral vision.

The guard swallows, then exhales slowly. "I gotta go back home. I can't stay here. I'm gonna ask as soon as I can walk."

Altair nods.

"Are you crazy?" Malik hisses. "You will not be leaving this bureau alive."

"Malik, do not act so hasty. I do not think this man is—"

"If I let you do the thinking, the Order would be dead. Or have you forgotten what happened at _Solomon's Temple?"_

"You were the assassins at Solomon's Temple?" the guard asks, his eyes still hazy with the effects of dehydration.

Altair helps him through the third skin.

"You're… you're…" there's a pause, and a word in English that he doesn't understand, but the man says it with such reverence that he believes it can't be bad. His Arabic is already better than most of the Englishmen, maybe studying it when he was off patrol. "…among us," the man says, although the effects of the sun are clearly taking their toll. "Incredible. You were there. Which one of you… fought?"

"That would be me," Malik snarls.

The man flops his head to the side to look at him, and Altair looks at the guard.

"Incredibly—incredible—I just… To think that you survived… and your brother was such a demon with a blade, according to the stories…"

Altair notices Malik's confused expression, but the guard is already asleep. He meets the Dai's gaze and sees his curious expression. Nevertheless, Altair says nothing else and lies beside his companion, closing his eyes and sleeping. He has a few days left to waste before he has to return.

The next morning, he find the guard sitting at the table in the bureau, and Malik is talking to him quietly, inquiring about the Temple legends, and the guard, while clearly nervous without his weapons, is talking semi-amiably, faltering over some words as he tries to recover still. He watches for a while before the guard looks at him. He quirks an eyebrow when he receives a smile.

"Thank you," the man says. "Thank you for saving my life, assassin."

Altair nods, and the guard walks free that day with the promise to see him on the wooden beams.

They meet again the next day, and the next few days after that. Altair sees him sneaking into the bureau at night, and Altair can't help but smile when he finds the guard beside him in the mornings. He almost regrets having to leave a few days later, but the guard asks to come with him. Both he and Malik are equally surprised, and Al Mualim is hesitant when he meets him. Still, in the cool confines of the castle of Masyaf up in the mountains, the man seems to liven up a little bit.

Perhaps this is the start of his path to redemption, he muses as the man is tasked to helping Rauf with the novices. And the next time he is in Jerusalem, even Malik seems a little bit less harsh toward him.


End file.
